


New Tricks

by plingo_kat



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No,” Will says firmly. “Bad boy. <em>Sit.</em>”</p><p>Hannibal hums approvingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Tricks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catonspeed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catonspeed/gifts).



> This fic was written for the [AO3 Auction Fundraiser](http://ao3auction.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for catonspeed, who bid extremely generously on me. We discussed a couple of ideas and I went with one, but it meandered away from the prompt a bit. I hope it's still satisfactory!

“No,” Will says firmly. “Bad boy. _Sit._ ”

Hannibal hums approvingly.

 

It starts with a theoretical and – unsurprisingly, as Will has come to expect from Hannibal – philosophical discussion. 

“Have you heard of Marr’s Theory?” Hannibal steeples his hands together in his lap. When Will shakes his head, he continues, “Or perhaps the associative net model of the brain? It is quite simple, at least in terms of the overall idea. The neurons of the cerebellum form what is essentially a pattern associator, in which a certain input automatically generates a defined output once the pattern is learned.”

Will nods, slowly. “I think I remember that from my undergraduate days.” His mouth twists in a half-smirk, half-grimace. “That’s all about near-reflexive actions, though. It has nothing to do with,” he waves a hand, “higher functioning cognitive psychology.”

“Ah, but.” Hannibal raises a finger, and on him it’s like any other person gesturing with their entire arm. “The idea is quite similar to that of operant conditioning, and _that_ has quite an impact on cognitive psychology.”

“I’m not Pavlov’s dog,” Will says.

Hannibal smiles. “I never said that you were.”

 

Will’s empathy isn’t like a flashlight; he can’t turn it on and off. But neither is it an out-of-control monster raging through his psyche. He doesn’t get random flashes of what people are feeling or anything so... Hollywood.

“It is like a hound on the hunt,” Hannibal suggests. “You may train it, and give it a target, but to leash it completely is both impossible and detrimental.”

“Except that I’m hunting animals a little bit more dangerous than foxes,” Will murmurs.

Hannibal’s eyes gleam. “Indeed.”

 

That night Will dreams that he takes the dogs outside for a run. He stands serene and alone in the dark, empty fields, fog settling gently over the grass, and listens to the wild bark and baying of his hounds, the panting breaths and rhythmic thuds of paws hitting the earth. He can hear the rustling of the weeds as a fox darts to and fro, the strange whining yip as it panics. He can hear—

—heavier thuds, hooves in the dirt, a deep bellowing snort—

—his own heavy inhales, the blood beating hot in his veins as the dogs take the fox down. There are snarls and the whimpering screams of a dying animal, the snapping of teeth and bone, and Will abruptly knows, _knows_ that the dogs will come after him next, because he is a killer and a murderer—

—he is Garret Jacob Hobbs—

—and when he turns to run it is already too late, the dogs are upon him, but the raven-feathered stag leaps forward and gores a dog on its antlers before throwing his head back and flinging it away. Will lies cowering in the mud and dew and weeds as hooves trample near his head, the dogs slavering and dying where he can’t see.

He is safe.

 

“I’m surprised you don’t have more problems, actually,” Katz says. “We had a dog when I was a kid, and I guess my parents didn’t train her all that well because she would pee _everywhere_. I mean, mostly it was okay because she would at least let us know she wanted to go outside, right? But we could never get her to pee in one place when she was inside.”

Will squints at her ear. “Training a dog is easy. You just have to be stern. And kind.”

“Uh huh,” Katz says. “I like cats. They’re independent.”

Will shrugs.

“Not that I would object to seeing some of your dogs,” she says. “I bet they’re cute. Cute and scruffy.”

“Are we still talking about the dogs?” Will mutters, but he smiles when she laughs.

 

“Hello?”

“Will.” There is only one person that Will knows who has that particular accent. “Is this a good time?”

“Yeah. Um,” he fumbles with the phone, pressing it against his cheek as he adjusts his grip. There is a cup of coffee by his elbow; he picks it up and then puts it down again. “Uh, yeah. Did you need something?”

“I am going to need to come by and pick up your keys,” Hannibal says. “Perhaps this weekend?”

“Oh, yeah. How about Saturday? And thanks for taking care of the dogs, I know it’s a lot of trouble…”

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is warm. “We are friends. It is no trouble at all.”

Will clears his throat. “Well, at least let me pay for your gas or take you out for lunch or something. Or you could have a dog. I, uh, have a lot.” He winces. That was a bad joke.

“I do like canines.” The smile is audible. “But I fear I would not have the time to take care of a dog despite how fond I am of them. Lunch will be perfectly acceptable, however.”

“And gas,” Will insists. “It’s a long drive.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal says. “I’ll see you on Saturday, then. Say, eleven?”

“Eleven,” Will agrees. Winston pads up to him, panting softly and nudging at his knee. He ruffles the dog’s ears.

“Well,” he says as he hangs up. “It’s nice to know that I’m still terrible at phone conversations.”

Winston lays his head trustingly on Will’s thigh.

 

Will wakes up from dreams of the stag violently, covered in sweat, even when they are just dreams and not nightmares. The fantasy animal carries a nameless, creeping dread with it whenever it appears.

And now he’s seeing it in the waking hours as well.

 

Hannibal’s presence in Will’s home is just as hilariously out of place as it was the first time he came over, when Will was in boxers and a ratty tee while Hannibal had his three piece suit and two containers of Tupperware. He consents to bend over and pet the dogs, which wag their tails tentatively and shed hair all over Hannibal’s pants.

“Do they need to be walked?”

“Ah, no,” Will says. He’s standing awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen. “I usually let them out in the evenings, but a day or two inside won’t hurt them.”

Hannibal gives the Border Collie he’s handling one last pat before straightening up. “Very well. Allow me to use your sink, and you can show me where the dog food is before we go out to lunch.”

“I don’t know if you have any preferences…”

“Surprise me,” Hannibal suggests. “I am open to new experiences.”

Will barks out a laugh.

 

In their therapy sessions Hannibal makes no mention of their extracurricular activities; he may reference their friendship, but never takes it further. Inside the confines of Hannibal’s domain he is more than a patient but less than a friend, and it is at once disorienting and soothing. Hannibal here does not want to interact socially with Will; Will doesn’t need to be nice, or diplomatic, or anything but honest. Hannibal will never judge him, or even if he does he will never act on those judgments in their personal relationship.

When he’s with Hannibal, he can breathe.

 

“If this is going to become a regular thing,” Will says, “I should teach you some commands. Have them do a few tricks. I don’t get many visitors to show off to.”

“I would be delighted,” Hannibal says, genteel as ever.

“A minute,” Will says, and disappears into the kitchen to find some treats. Hannibal looks around Will’s living room, which is identical to when he last visited but for the lack of fish hooks on the desk. The dogs are lying or sitting on the floor, eyes fixed on him. He ignores them.

“Okay.” Will is back. He whistles and the dogs’ heads raise, ears perked. Will shakes the bag of dog treats. He is immediately swarmed.

 _“Tss!”_ At his hiss, the dogs immediately sit. Hannibal radiates approval.

Will digs out a treat, and the dogs’ eyes all follow his hand. He raises his arm and calls out; the second dog from the left barks.

“Light!” Will commands. The dog heads over to the light switch. “On! Turn it on.”

A nose is used to push the switch up. Will smiles. “Good girl,” he says, and throws the treat. The dog jumps to catch it, snapping the biscuit neatly out of the air.

Hannibal claps. Will smiles at him as well, and then orders the rest of the dogs to fetch, open the one door with a bar handle instead of a knob, “guard,” sit, and shake paws with Hannibal. There is a small mishap where the terrier mix gets a bit too excited and jumps on Hannibal, but a sharp reprimand from Will brings him to heel. In the end they all bow in concert, and Hannibal applauds with genuine enthusiasm.

“They are quite disciplined,” he says, and places his hand – congratulatory, possessive – on the back of Will’s neck.

Will ducks his head, face heating. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and doesn’t step away from the touch. In fact, he may lean into it.

Behind Will Hannibal’s nostrils flare. The corners of his mouth twitch in something much more sinister than a smile.


	2. DVD commentary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So because of catonspeed's _extremely generous_ donation/bid I felt bad that the fic didn't turn out to be longer, and I've always wanted to do a DVD commentary. Therefore: a DVD commentary! You can see my erratic thought processes and totally arbitrary decisions during the fic-writing process!
> 
> The **commentary is in bold** , while the fic itself is normal text.

**Okay, before we begin this I’d like to say that this was _going_ to be a pseudo-philosophical exploration of Hannibal’s relationship with Will through the lens of operant conditioning, with appropriate amounts of medical/scientific explanations, but then dogs came into it and everything got away from me. **

“No,” Will says firmly. “Bad boy. _Sit._ ”

Hannibal hums approvingly.

 

It starts with a theoretical and –unsurprisingly, as Will has come to expect from Hannibal – philosophical discussion. **Okay so in the show there isn’t _that_ much philosophical discussion, but I can see it happening. Interspersed with theological discussion, possibly. Does anybody know the theological orientations of these characters? I mean, is it ever formally discussed anywhere? **

“Have you heard of Marr’s Theory?” Hannibal steeples his hands together in his lap. When Will shakes his head, he continues, “Or perhaps the associative net model of the brain? It is quite simple, at least in terms of the overall idea. The neurons of the cerebellum form what is essentially a pattern associator, in which a certain input automatically generates a defined output once the pattern is learned.” **There’s a lot more to it than that, but I didn’t want to go into it. If you want to know more you should look it up.**

**Can you tell that I took a class called Communication in the Nervous System? Because I totally spent two weeks of my life learning about and building a mechanistic model of the cerebellum as an associative net.**

Will nods, slowly. “I think I remember that from my undergraduate days.” His mouth twists in a half-smirk, half-grimace. “That’s all about near-reflexive actions, though. It has nothing to do with,” he waves a hand, “higher functioning cognitive psychology.” **When most people think of psychology, they think of higher cognitive functions: voluntary movement, why we choose to do certain things, etc. In fact psychology is anything to do with mental functions and behaviors, with includes things like how the brain regulates breathing or sleeping patterns. Reflexes are not actually part of this (I don’t think) because the nerve impulses go straight from the receptor nerves to the spinal cord and back, no involvement of the brain necessary. And now you know more than you ever needed to for this fic to make sense.**

“Ah, but.” Hannibal raises a finger, and on him it’s like any other person gesturing with their entire arm. “The idea is quite similar to that of operant conditioning, and _that_ has quite an impact on cognitive psychology.” **Operant conditioning is when behavior is modified by consequences; this is not to be confused with classical conditioning, which deals with reflexive actions (i.e. Pavlov’s dog).**

“I’m not Pavlov’s dog,” Will says. **So Will is actually referencing the wrong thing here. Ahaha.**

Hannibal smiles. “I never said that you were.”

 

Will’s empathy isn’t like a flashlight; he can’t turn it on and off. But neither is it an out-of-control monster raging through his psyche. **I’ve seen interpretations of both of these, and don’t completely buy either of them. I enjoy reading both, however, and remain open to any idea of how Will’s magical time-travel empathy powers work until I form a definite opinion about them.** He doesn’t get random flashes of what people are feeling or anything so... Hollywood.

“It is like a hound on the hunt,” Hannibal suggests. “You may train it, and give it a target, but to leash it completely is both impossible and detrimental.” **So many animal metaphors in this fic. So many.**

“Except that I’m hunting animals a little bit more dangerous than foxes,” Will murmurs. **Idk if that leap of logic/associations (hounds hunting foxes) is too abrupt, but I figure Will’s mind works that way. He jumps from idea to idea, from data to conclusion, and it seems totally out of the blue (I’m looking at you, show, Will can’t be right about all those weirdly specific conclusions all the time).**

Hannibal’s eyes gleam. “Indeed.”

 

That night Will dreams that he takes the dogs outside for a run. He stands serene and alone in the dark, empty fields, fog settling gently over the grass, and listens to the wild bark and baying of his hounds, the panting breaths and rhythmic thuds of paws hitting the earth. **I was thinking of the Wild Hunt here, actually.** He can hear the rustling of the weeds as a fox darts to and fro, the strange whining yip as it panics. He can hear—

—heavier thuds, hooves in the dirt, a deep bellowing snort—

—his own heavy inhales, the blood beating hot in his veins as the dogs take the fox down. There are snarls and the whimpering screams of a dying animal, the snapping of teeth and bone, and Will abruptly knows, _knows_ that the dogs will come after him next, because he is a killer and a murderer—

—he is Garret Jacob Hobbs—

—and when he turns to run it is already too late, the dogs are upon him, but the raven-feathered stag leaps forward and gores a dog on its antlers before throwing his head back and flinging it away. **And here is some blatant symbolism. In this fic the stag is a jumbled up representation of Hannibal, Will’s trauma, and the darkness in Will’s psyche. The dogs, of course, are Will’s moral compass/conscience (they hunt bad guys!).** Will lies cowering in the mud and dew and weeds as hooves trample near his head, the dogs slavering and dying where he can’t see.

He is safe.

**I really, really love dream sequences because 1) they can be disjointed and weird and have strange details standing out and 2) you can easily stick symbolism in them to show the themes you are trying to develop and 3) I really like using dashes but try to cut them down in normal storytelling, but in dream sequences dashes are great because they are perfect for abrupt transitions/parallel narratives.**

 

“I’m surprised you don’t have more problems, actually,” Katz says. **I think that I am now incapable of writing Hannibal fic without Beverly in it. She is actually the coolest character in this show, no lie.** “We had a dog when I was a kid, and I guess my parents didn’t train her all that well because she would pee _everywhere_. I mean, mostly it was okay because she would at least let us know she wanted to go outside, right? But we could never get her to pee in one place when she was inside.”

Will squints at her ear. “Training a dog is easy. You just have to be stern. And kind.” **YOU MEAN LIKE HANNIBAL IS, WILL????**

“Uh huh,” Katz says. “I like cats. They’re independent.” **Shamelessly based on me, I want to be Beverly Katz when I grow up. I can project if I want to.**

Will shrugs.

“Not that I would object to seeing some of your dogs,” she says. “I bet they’re cute. Cute and scruffy.”

“Are we still talking about the dogs?” Will mutters, but he smiles when she laughs. **Katz just really needs to be Will’s friend and be a normal person in his life. Really, Will needs every friend except Hannibal. And possibly Jack. If he just interacted with Alana and Katz his life would be golden.**

 

“Hello?”

“Will.” There is only one person that Will knows who has that particular accent. “Is this a good time?”

“Yeah. Um,” he fumbles with the phone, pressing it against his cheek and he adjusts his grip. There is a cup of coffee by his elbow; he picks it up and then puts it down again. “Uh, yeah. Did you need something?” **I love awkward Will. Love love love. Also, I totally fiddle while on the phone.**

“I am going to need to come by and pick up your keys,” Hannibal says. “Perhaps this weekend?”

“Oh, yeah. How about Saturday? And thanks for taking care of the dogs, I know it’s a lot of trouble…”

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is warm. **ALERT, ALERT. ABORT MISSION, WILL. SAVE YOURSELF.** “We are friends. It is no trouble at all.”

Will clears his throat. “Well, at least let me pay for your gas or take you out for lunch or something. Or you could have a dog. I, uh, have a lot.” He winces. That was a bad joke. Oh, Will. It’s too late for you. Also you are extremely bad at flirting.

“I do like canines.” The smile is audible. “But I fear I would not have the time to take care of a dog despite how fond I am of them. Lunch will be perfectly acceptable, however.” **I agonized over whether to have Hannibal agree to a lunch he didn’t make. Agonized.**

“And gas,” Will insists. “It’s a long drive.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal says. “I’ll see you on Saturday, then. Say, eleven?”

“Eleven,” Will agrees. Winston pads up to him, panting softly and nudging at his knee. He ruffles the dog’s ears.

“Well,” he says as he hangs up. “It’s nice to know that I’m still terrible at phone conversations.”

Winston lays his head trustingly on Will’s thigh.

**I absolutely have fantasies about Will tripping over dogs in the dark, or dogs flopping on Will’s legs and refusing to move until his limbs are numb and he has terrible pins and needles, or dogs drooling all over Will’s clothing, or dogs licking his face and his hair into terrible shapes, or Will play-wrestling with dogs, or just. Will + dogs, okay.**

 

Will wakes up from dreams of the stag violently, covered in sweat, even when they are just dreams and not nightmares. The fantasy animal carries a nameless, creeping dread with it whenever it appears. **BECAUSE IT’S HANNIBAL. IT WANTS TO FEED YOU PEOPLE, WILL.**

And now he’s seeing it in the waking hours as well.

 

Hannibal’s presence in Will’s home is just as hilariously out of place as it was the first time he came over, when Will was in boxers and a ratty tee while Hannibal had his three piece suit and two containers of Tupperware. He consents to bend over and pet the dogs, which wag their tails tentatively and shed hair all over Hannibal’s pants. **I firmly believe that Will has one of those sticky lint roller things lying in every room, but never uses any of them.**

“Do they need to be walked?”

“Ah, no,” Will says. He’s standing awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen. “I usually let them out in the evenings, but a day or two inside won’t hurt them.”

Hannibal gives the border collie **Max made a[great post](http://pushthequorumbutton.tumblr.com/post/48491300923/shawarma-palace-kmmerc-shawarma-palace-i) about the breeds of Will’s dogs** he’s handling one last pat before straightening up. “Very well. Allow me to use your sink, and you can show me where the dog food is before we go out to lunch.”

“I don’t know if you have any preferences…”

“Surprise me,” Hannibal suggests. “I am open to new experiences.” **If Hannibal is embracing culinary plebianism, he’s going do it all the way.**

Will barks out a laugh.

 

In their therapy sessions Hannibal makes no mention of their extracurricular activities; he may reference their friendship, but never takes it further. **When I tried to look for a word other than “extracurricular” (because it implies a curriculum – or school) I typed it into thesaurus.com and the article that came up was “adulterous.” And then I laughed a lot and kept the word.** Inside the confines of Hannibal’s domain he is more than a patient but less than a friend, and it is at once disorienting and soothing. Hannibal here does not want to interact socially with Will; Will doesn’t need to be nice, or diplomatic, or anything but honest. Hannibal will never judge him, or even if he does he will never act on those judgments in their personal relationship.

When he’s with Hannibal, he can breathe.

**Parallels with the dream world! I was going to say “he is safe” here, but that was a bit too much of a stretch; Will would never admit that even to himself.**

 

“If this is going to become a regular thing,” Will says, “I should teach you some commands. Have them do a few tricks. I don’t get many visitors to show off to.”

“I would be delighted,” Hannibal says, genteel as ever. **He is not actually delighted.**

“A minute,” Will says, and disappears into the kitchen to find some treats. Hannibal looks around Will’s living room, which is identical to when he last visited but for the lack fish hooks on the desk. The dogs are lying or sitting on the floor, eyes fixed on him. He ignores them.

“Okay.” Will is back. He whistles and the dogs’ heads raise, ears perked. Will shakes the bag of dog treats. He is immediately swarmed.

 _“Tss!”_ At his hiss, the dogs immediately sit. Hannibal radiates approval. **Will being masterly with his dogs is hot. I admit it.**

Will digs out a treat, and the dogs’ eyes all follow his hand. He raises his arm and calls out; the second dog from the left barks. **I would really like to know the dogs’ names. I can’t just use Winston forever. And I would make some names up, but what kind of a namer is Will? Person-names? Ridiculous names? Trait-inspired names? Is one of dogs’ names Lola the Magnificent Cattle Dog Mutt? Who can tell?**

“Light!” Will commands. The dog heads over to the light switch. “On! Turn it on.”

A nose is used to push the switch up. Will smiles. “Good girl,” he says, and throws the treat. The dog jumps to catch it, snapping the biscuit neatly out of the air.

Hannibal claps. Will smiles at him as well, and then orders the rest of the dogs to fetch, open the one door with a bar handle instead of a knob, “guard,” sit, and shake paws with Hannibal. There is a small mishap where the terrier mix gets a bit too excited and jumps on Hannibal, **You don’t know how close you came to death, terrier mix. Also, this is what is happening in the very first scene/the summary. I like the circular storyline.** but a sharp reprimand from Will brings him to heel. In the end they all bow in concert, and Hannibal applauds with genuine enthusiasm. **Possibly. Possibly genuine enthusiasm.**

“They are quite disciplined,” he says, and places his hand – congratulatory, possessive – on the back of Will’s neck. **LIKE A DOG OWNER. *nudge nudge wink wink***

Will ducks his head, face heating. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and doesn’t step away from the touch. In fact, he may lean into it.

Behind Will, Hannibal’s nostrils flare. The corners of his mouth twitch in something much more sinister than a smile.

**And then this fic tried to keep going, but all the rest of the scenes that I attempted to write were… bleh. The only way the fic could have moved forward more is if Hannibal _blatantly_ started ordering Will around, and I couldn’t see that happening in any sort of believable way. So. A rather open-ended but ominous ending, just like each episodes’ wrap-up scenes. I like them when I’m writing, not so much when reading? But am inflicting it on my readers anyway, whoops. **


End file.
